Just Write Something Damnit — Day 4

Just Write Something Damnit — Day 4

The Basics - Part 1: The Whirlpool

The Whirlpool

The goal and intention of the posts that follow is to break down the basics that I learned as a child. I am passionate about current events unfolding throughout our country. I will not, however, mention them here. Most of the tenets I am about to espouse fly out the window when I speak of these events. There are plenty of people spouting their opinions, as if they were informed, already. Social media has changed the game folks. It has given each of us the power to put have our opinions out there for all to see. It has also stripped us of the filters made up by the basics I am about to discuss. The purpose of the posts is to remind them, and me, that sometimes it is better to think before you act. Sometimes restraint can form a more powerful opinion than rage.

We, as a country, are currently engulfed in a whirlpool of our own making. Daily, we swim with its tide—increasing its speed and ferocity—and rush towards its doom. Most of us have a vague sense that we are caught up in it. Some of us have turned, halfheartedly, in an attempt to slow it. Still fewer have even grabbed the side of the pool and attempted to get out. The ones that do are overpowered by the force of the thing. The current sweeps them away—their good intentions and screams of hopelessness all drowned by inertia and apathy

We, as a people, are sick and tired. The whirlpool has drained us of our humanity and hope. Not one of us is thinking with a clear head. Not one of us well enough to stop the tide.

I always revert to something I learned early in my sales career during times of trouble—when things don't seem to be working out the way they should, the first thing you need to do is go back to basics. It is that thought that inspired this series of essays.


I—we—need to go back to basics. We need raise to ourselves up as a people and take a long, hard, look at the basics we have abandoned. It is in those basics that we find unity and fellowship, strength and security, love and respect. We have come so far as a county—made leaps and bounds with regards to equal rights for all men and women. No, we are not perfect—we were on the right path though. I beg of us all to turn and face this vicious tide that binds us. Leap from the pool and back onto the path. Do not let those past struggles be in vain. Do not watch our countries future—our children’s future—become tattered, torn, and sucked into the depths of that limitless pool. Shirk the narrow constrains of white and black, red and blue, right and wrong. Stop the madness, go back to the basics our parents taught us, and teach them to our children.

We, as a people, are strong and resilient. The whirlpool can be stopped. All of us can work together. All of us can stop the tide.

The Basics is a series and I will be posting every couple of days over the next two weeks so please stay tuned and leave your comments below.

Dave


Check out The Basics - Part 2: With Respect

Fall From Grace

The creative process is, at first, a fall from grace.

It begins with you on a mountaintop, somewhere in the wide world, standing firm, basking in the glory of your own assumptions, and the perception that has molded you since birth.

Then, from the corner of your eye you spot a butterfly—such as none you’ve ever seen before—flitting, playfully, over your shoulder and breaking for the valley below.

The winged creature’s beauty—and unpredictable flight of fancy—sets inestimable fires of thought ablaze within your stagnant mind.  The fires spread like the winds of a storm and, soon, your entire body is ablaze.  Your pulse quickens, and sweat runs like rivers of intent from every pore in your body.

The process has begun—the fall is imminent.

The fires blazing within you compel you to run.  You must catch the spark—if only for a fleeting moment—and determine the source of its beauty.  But it is flown away now, and barely visible as it falls wistfully into the abyss below.

Running is the only option.  There is no time for the subtleties of a casual stroll down the hill.  The impetus for this wild heat within is drawing a curtain of time and space in its wake and—even now—its vision begins to elude you.

Your legs are as pistons obeying the ceaseless desire of the engine up above.  They could not fulfill the speed requirements if they wanted to.  The terrain is uneven, rocky, and unexplored.  Your foot hits a dip and your entire mechanism is thrown off kilter.

You are flailing now—arms and legs akimbo— and the only control you possess is the will to follow that creature of idea.  The rest is all nonsense—grace, and control, and the like—for they would all compose the parameters that would allow this beauty to escape.

And so you let the momentum take you—come hell or high water—and leave your feet behind.

Not surprisingly, the body decides to stay with its friends, and you are now but a lost soul tumbling into eternity.

The motion is hapless—at first.  Head over heels you roll—losing all sense of self and situation to the sheer force of momentum.  Nothing makes sense because all things are possible, and probable.  It is exhilarating, and motivating, and terrifying, all at once.  You are eternity in motion and nothing—not even your over inflated ego—can stop it from moving forward.

You fall through the maelstrom of unlimited ideas and then—without warning—you catch a glimpse of the original thought—the butterfly—that has tempted you into chaos.  It is gone again—in a heartbeat—from your view askew, and yet purpose has returned to your vision for good.  Now—with every turn and twist of your soul—you try to see all other things as they relate to that one of which you are most intent.  Grass, and moss, and rocks cling to the sweating mass of your psyche as you fall; but only long enough for you to decide whether or not they belong within this story.

The tumble resolves itself into a roll as the pieces of the picture coagulate into something that loosely resembles confidence.  Every new fragment that sticks lends credence to the tale that must be told.

And determination wells up inside of you like the first breath of |God…

Hornet

I was power washing the house last week when I came upon a nest. It didn't look like there was anything in it, but I decided to spray it anyway. When I did, this huge hornet came scrambling out of the bottom, franticly crawled around the nest twice, and died exactly the way it is in these photographs.

Through It All

Cattus Island County Park

Edited with Tonality for Mac